


A Good Person

by IAmAshamedOfMyFanfics (faraandmera)



Series: People (Immortal Fake AH Crew) [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Pre-Fake AH Crew, mentions of the others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21509239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faraandmera/pseuds/IAmAshamedOfMyFanfics
Summary: He was a good person, once. At the very least normal. Jeremy Dooley wasn’t planning on becoming what he did. Had thought his life would be average, to the end.Who expects immortality, anyway?
Series: People (Immortal Fake AH Crew) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567006
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	A Good Person

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted to tumblr

He was a good person, once. At the very least _normal_. Jeremy Dooley wasn’t planning on becoming what he did. Had thought his life would be average, to the end.

Who expects immortality, anyway?

So Jeremy was a teenager. Falls in with the _wrong_ crowd, but it’s nothing he can’t get out of. Thinks he’ll stop hanging around them, eventually. Plans on it. But it’s too late, before he tries. One more outing- it’s not something to worry about, not too late-

And one of the bastards actually tries to _summon a fucking demon._

Jeremy wakes up at home, and most of his “friends” are dead or missing. He doesn’t know what happened- doesn’t know if he wants to- but it fills he chest with a resting anxiety for months.

And months. 

And still. 

And still. 

And-

Jeremy is 26.

Jeremy is 26 and it’s 1971 and he still doesn’t have answers, but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. So maybe he can’t sleep, some nights. Wakes with a pounding heart and no explanation for why. So maybe he can’t remember, but maybe there was nothing _to_ remember. Maybe he had left, and couldn’t remember. Whatever happened, he doesn’t know for sure he was even _there_ for.

It’s fine.

Another night, another sleepless night. Jeremy drowns his anxiety in alcohol and stumbles down the sidewalk home. Jeremy is 26.

Jeremy is dead.

Jeremy Dooley dies on a Saturday night, just before midnight, stumbled into the road and didn’t survive to the hospital.

Jeremy Dooley wakes up outside his house, bloodied clothes and stopped pulse, but there.

Alive.

Jeremy wants more answers, has more questions.

He’ll never find out what happened.

Jeremy is 26.

Jeremy is 26 and it’s 1995. A man with too many tattoo’s to count robs a store while Jeremy is in it. A noise- Jeremy picking up a package of chips because he couldn’t give _less_ of a fuck about the man’s gun pointing at him- and Jeremy laughs.

Jeremy has died 18 times, what’s one more?

“What’re you gonna do, shoot me?”

“I might.”

“Okay.” Jeremy shrugs. The man eyes him, then laughs, lowers his gun as the store clerk crawls out of the store, and takes off running. Reaches for the register as Jeremy stands there, watching.

“How old are you, kid?”

“What?”

“How old are you, kid?” He repeats. Eyes Jeremy like he know more than he should.

Then, blandly, Jeremy answers, “Fifty.”

And he laughs again, stuff bills into his pockets and nods. “Yeah? Still younger than me.”

But that doesn’t make sense. He cant be much older than Jeremy actually is. Unless-

But he’s gone. Leaves with a wave while Jeremy is too slow to process the whole thing.

Another question, still no answers.

Jeremy is 26 and it’s 2009. And life is so painfully _boring. _Questions without answers aren’t entertaining, they’re frustrating, and immortality is so boring. Useless. 

Jeremy meets Matt Bragg that summer, when the other is running from the cops, and stumbles right into Jeremy. 

Jeremy could stop him, could try, could do something.

Could be a good person.

He grabs Matt, pulls him down an ally, and they loose the cops. Laugh about it later, introduce themselves properly, and before Jeremy knows it, he’s a criminal.

Life is more interesting, as sick as it is to say. Matt survives a bullet to the head, four months later, and Jeremy thinks, _oh, of course_.

Jeremy is 26 and it’s 2014. He moves to Los Santos a few weeks before Matt, because life is getting stale and he heard news of the _Fake’s_ moving there from Liberty city. Their chaos is sure to cause a lot of death, a lot of theft, a general sense of danger.

What else could keep an immortal life interesting?

Jeremy makes a proper name for himself in Los Santos. Rimmy Tim. Purple and Orange covered in blood and chaos. Gets a hold of a too-loose-lipped criminal who tells him the Fake’s are plotting to rob the maze bank, and does so the day before they can.

_Your move_.

Matt rolls his eyes at him. Call him an idiot with a death wish. The words hold a too-close-to-truth to them that has Jeremy smacking Matt upside the head and heading out to a nearby bar.

Jeremy meets the first of the Fake AH Crew members a week later. Jack. All polite- warning- smiles and compliments on Rimmy Tim’s work. And an offer.

“For you and you’re friend,” Jack says. “To join us.”

“For?”

“A little test.”

In and out, get a jet, make it back alive. “Not with the jet, just after stealing it. If you bring it back, though, you can even join our next heist.”

It’s a joke. A deathtrap. A sure-fire way to get himself killed.

They must want him dead.

Jeremy gets drunk, steals a helicopter, and parachutes into a military base to steal a jet the next day. Only takes it far enough to park it in a field and get out, before he’s caught.

Jeremy dies. Matt meets him a mile away, where Jeremy wakes up outside a shitty restaurant. Dust reforming into a person, Matt tells him. Jeremy steals a car and they sneak their way past police- taking them out as they go- to get back to the jet.

“Here’s your jet,” Jeremy says, nonchalant. Jack laughs in his face, throws an arm around his shoulder, and says,

“How old are you, kid?”

Jeremy freezes, then. For the first time, something hits him.

How have the Fake’s survived so long? How have not one of them died? How-

Those words are familiar.

“Fuck if I remember,” Jeremy answers. Jack nods, smiles.

“Wanna meet the others?”

Geoff is oh-so-familiar. Tattoo’s even greater in number, age still the same. He grins at Jeremy, a small wave. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey.”

Michael, Lindsay, and Gavin aren’t much older than him, he finds out. Jack and Geoff are much older.

And none of them are good people. Thieves, murders, criminals, liars. They’ve probably committed treason, definitely committed terrorism.

Jeremy was a good person, once. Normal, at least. Someone who, were he able to die, might have gotten into a theoretical heaven.

Jeremy is 26, and not a good person, and it’s 2019, and he’s a member of the most well known crew in the states. 

Is too far in with the “wrong crowd” to get out now. Too late to be a good person. So why bother trying? Immortality is boring, but the Fake’s make it much more interesting.

It’s not like he planned on it. Who expects immortality, anyway?

But It’s too late to be anything else, now.


End file.
